02.25.02 :: 9:23 am

I am pretty sure I was the most obnoxiously drunk I've ever been on Saturday night, yet he still humored me, which is a very good sign.

My Boy was too drunk to drive us back home after leaving the party, so we called a taxi.

I made it halfway before announcing, "He's accelerating too fast. I'm gonna be sick. We have to get out and walk."

And we did. About ten blocks. Long, long, cold, agonizing blocks. But the air felt good and I was swerving all the way home on my two feet.

The next two hours was a battle of wills between me and the sick.

I won.

Sick never came, but I tortured My Boy with "Why the fuck are you cooking fried rice right now? Don't you know it's making me NAUSEOUS and WORSE?!!" And I padded back and forth in the living room, trying to walk off the drunk, wrapped in a blanket.

A sight for sore eyes, no doubt.

My Boy laughed it off, like the good sport he is, and I felt like an asshole in the morning, per usual.

Apologies accepted. I'm quitting the sauce for a while.

Well, this week at least.

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